


the crack inside

by mareen



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareen/pseuds/mareen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is dying. It's Lex's fault. Clark is paying a last visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the crack inside

**Author's Note:**

> This story was beta-read by three people. Katja, who made me rewrite the ending. Cora, whose last words about this story included the sound "uff". I've hardly heard anything nicer. :- ) And Gail, who as usual had to remind me about my "no ones" and my commas inside the quotes. I might never learn but she's the best, so she puts up with it. :- )

It is still early. A nice and warm autumn weather-day. He is waiting, standing at the window, enjoying the slight ocean breeze blowing from the east and the sun, shining down on him. A lovely day, perfect for a walk through a park or maybe for taking a swim. A Quality Time day. Happy Days for Happy Families.

He just keeps on standing there and he is trying to think about the last time he has left the building. Can't remember really. It's all kind of blurry by now. Gone. Like in one of those dreams you have, the ones you fiercely try to grasp to remember but never can get a real grip on and all you've got left is the cold sweat on your skin and the feeling that *something dreadful* happened. But you don't know what it was all about.

Sweet, mingled with a bit of rotting. The smell is coming at him the moment the breeze from the ocean is less strong and the one from the city takes over instead. And it is taking his breath away.

Since the air-conditioning isn't working any more the smell inside has become bad, too, but it's still not as bad. They managed to find a room, down there, deep in the cellar of the building. They are storing the dead behind a dozen doors that keep the smell away. But out there... something distinctive cloying, sweet-sour-sweaty, that is just subtly different from how dead animals smell. And that's the dead people. Millions and millions of dead people that had not been buried because there hadn't been anyone left to do that.

The moment they had started getting sick, the Government had known what was happening and that it couldn't be stopped...but they didn't tell anyone. So people had still hoped for a miracle, at first at least. God's intervention to something that just couldn't happen. Because it was unimaginable. Anything to stop this cosmic disaster. But the time for miracles had never  
come... Or maybe God was just laughing in their faces.

He can't say. He never was a believer.

They started dying at home after a while. They died trying to escape town. They died trying to get into town. Some just collapsed out on the streets and no one bothered with their dead bodies so they rotted right there on the sidewalks. Panic was spreading and there had been fires and murders for food or water or just no reason at all. For weeks, there had always been screaming in the air. A nightmare that his consultants had wanted to stop by sending the military or the police, by using deadly force. But he had just stared at them for a moment and then started laughing furiously. Because what for? Why stop anyone doing anything if it wouldn't make a difference? So he'd told them to go home and fuck their wives one last time and after that decide if they'd rather want to shoot their brains out or die of the disease.

And now it is silent and flies and rats have taken over the city. Washington D.C. has become a city of parasites and soon the whole world would end the same way.

He wonders for a moment if he should feel guilt or maybe remorse. Then he is taking in a deep breath, the sweet, rotting smell of the dead fills his lungs...and he smiles.

He has done the greatest thing possible in this world. He has destroyed it.

And now he is waiting for him to come and visit him, to demand his vengeance. And maybe that's the only thing why he has done this in the first place. To make him come back and deal with him. Just fucking *do* something else but just entirely ignore him. Give something else but the silent treatment. Tell him the truth at last.

But the sky stays empty.

He turns and goes to the small private bar he has gotten himself built in shortly after he had moved into the Oval Office. There's no tonic water or orange juice in there. Nothing for mixing. Just booze. Lex takes a whiskey, no water, no ice, just the whiskey, doubled, thanking God for a sec that he has gone from dry-alcoholic back to part-time alcoholic a long time ago. He likes being drunk, that soothing feeling as if being surrounded by cotton, where no sound and no smell, nothing at all from the real world gets through to you, and instead you are in a happy LaLaPlace, smiling a lot. Forgetting everything.

For a few years, drinking had become a full time job for him again.

If you get drunk good, they can smell it on you even the next day. The smell from the booze is leaving your body through all of your pores all the time, and that makes people sniff and frown and then trying to hide their reaction. And you've got to suck on those horrible tasting sweets to hide the smell coming out of your mouth. But of course, that's never enough. Because you can't hide the shaking of your hands forever. Or how you can never really concentrate on anything because there's always this nagging desire for wanting the next shot right now. Just a little one, just a little glass, just to get through the day...

People notice all that. The press notices. And there were still reporters out there he hadn't bought. There still is now. One. Just exactly. One.

For a while, he drank everything from beer, to whiskey, scotch and rum. And worse than that: he couldn't stop any more, not like he had in the past... and one day he woke up in the morning and he realised he was seriously fucking up his life *again*. Because two days had gone by and he couldn't remember a single thing... He was a thirty-five-year-old alcohol-addicted multibillionaire with a good chance on the Oval Office who had shit into his pants.

He had vomited until the only thing coming out had been stomach acid, then he'd cleaned himself up and flushed the rest of his alcohol. And he'd gone through cold turkey, withdrawal with the most possible pain and the most terrible hallucinations, one of those being a mocking sixteen-year-old Clark Kent, pointing his finger at him and calling him a loser and laughing at his face for being so stupid to never getting it even though the truth had been right under his nose. Lex had wanted to kill him. But he couldn't grab him. He couldn't hold him. Just like he never could. Because Clark never stopped moving long enough.

Days after that he'd been back to the living, more determined than ever. He'd retreated back to a whiskey now and then. Nothing serious. Just something to make him feel better when he needed it especially bad. It has saved his sanity more than once. Every time there had been another news of people miraculously saved by a super-fast, super-strong man with dark hair  
and green eyes.

Yet...he was able to stop again and instead of destroying himself with his anger, he had decided to destroy others. One other. And he stopped keeping his hate in check.

With his whiskey in hand, Lex sits down on his dark-green arm chair and crosses his legs. He takes small nips from the glass and he is waiting.

Confidently today.

He has done terrible things in his days. Nothing worked. Of course, there were times when he'd seen Clark. But Clark in disguise. Pretending not to be Clark Kent, threatening Lex in this Superman-shit disguise he uses to hide his true self, and sometimes it had been hard for Lex to not laugh into his face...or maybe smash something into it. Or trying to at least. He  
is wondering if Clark thought he was stupid. Lose the glasses he didn't need anyway and hide under that stupid comic-book cape and no one will know who he was?

But he kept still. Let Clark have his way. All the time waiting for him to come out of hiding and tell him to his face. Say the truth. Finally after all those *years*. But Clark never did. Whatever Lex tried, Clark kept on playing this ridiculous game of hide and seek. Where everything Clark ever did was hiding and everything Lex did...was seeking. And he is tired of seeking. He wants the truth. He wants to know from Clark why he is still alive. And why he could never tell him. He wants to know.

Why.

And he doesn't know. It means so much to him. And he doesn't know why. It's as if he is hoping that Clark could have told him his purpose in life. And because Clark never told him the truth, Lex fucked up his purpose. He wonders if he could have done greater things to this world than just destroying it. And maybe Clark can tell him. He has to actually. Because  
there's no one else left who could. And he has no time left for seeking.

He hates Clark for that from the depth of his heart. And Lex Luthor's hate is massive and all-consuming when it isn't held in check. It always has been. He is sure Clark knows that now, too. And he thinks it's kind of funny, since it only took the end of the world to teach him.

Time goes by with him still sitting there and staring out the window and he watches the sky and how it turns into a light yellow. It is getting cooler and darker inside by the minute, but he doesn't even bother with trying to turn on the heater or the light. He knows both wouldn't work anyway.

But he lights a few candles. He wants to see Clark's face.

And when the sun has nearly vanished behind the horizon and it is bathing what is left of the world in bright red, blood-like, he can hear the sound of something breaking the sonic barrier and Lex takes the last sip of the last whiskey in his life and with a little sigh he sing-songs: "Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's..."

And stops.

His plain shirt is red, with small streaks of blue in it. And a blue jeans, fitting the shirt. Dark brown boots. He's thirty-six, but when Lex looks at him for a second all he sees is the farm-boy who dragged him out of the river and brought him back to life. The one who on their first meeting, in their first minutes together, pressed his lips to Lex's. And maybe that's the cruelest thing of it all. That after that one time...he never did it again.

And there's a big "maybe" in that. Maybe he wouldn't hate him as much if he'd done it again. Maybe. Or maybe he would hate him even more.

Clark is just staring at him, the eyes tired and surrounded by dark rings. Pain has left traces around his mouth. But nonetheless, his eyes on Lex are strong and piercing and filled with as much hate as Lex feels pressing his own stomach together.

Lex carefully smoothes down his stained white suit with his good hand.

"Hello, Clark," he says.

Smoothly. Still.

He takes the first steps towards him, expecting him to say something, scream, or beat him, grab him...do something. Or anything at all. He wants Clark to touch him, acknowledge him, no matter how much it would hurt.

But Clark is just standing there very still, staring at him and is at the same time not seeing anything at all.

"My mother died."

Lex stops.

"I buried her," Clark keeps on. "Just now."

He stretches out his hands and turns them to show his palms. They are dirty. Full of half-dried earth.

"See."

"Yes," Lex says. "I see."

"I don`t know." Clark's voice is toneless. "Is this what you wanted?"

Lex doesn't answer.

"Is this what you wanted?" Clark repeats, harder this time, angry, and Lex prepares himself for the impact of the first blow. He takes a step forward.

"I wanted you to..." he starts. His voice breaks. He coughs hard and wipes over his mouth with the back of his hand. Little sprinkles of blood on his skin. He knows he doesn't have much time left. "I wanted you to..." But he doesn't know what to say. Suddenly, he doesn't remember really. He brushes his bloodied hand over his sleeve again and again.

"I liked your mother," he says instead. He takes another step forward.

Clark nods.

Then he pushes.

With all his strength.

Lex can feel himself flying through the air, just for a second... flying, flying...

~ "People can't fly, Lex." ~

...but that had been just another lie.

And he crashes hard on the ground.

Pain soars through his whole body, spreading from his back to his arms and legs, blood starts squirting from a gash at the back of his head. And he is lying there on the ground, hurting all over, but he realises suddenly, that

Clark Has Shown Him The Truth

and he opens his mouth and he starts laughing, a loud, heart-felt laughter that comes from deep inside.

Clark's angry roar fills the room and Lex feels himself being lifted up again by the sides of his jacket. Up and more up until his feet are dangling high up above the ground. And Lex is staring down at his feet and then into Clark`s eyes, full of tears, and he can't stop laughing, a  
hiccuped laughing, that has more of crying by now. Clark is shaking him, and screaming "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it." as if he doesn't know what else to do and when Lex doesn't stop laughing, he screams at his face and throws him away, just as if he were a doll.

And still Lex can't stop, even when he crashes on the ground again and feels his blood soaking the back of his suit.

"Why?" Clark screams. "Why did you do it?"

"Because I could!" Lex screams back up at him. "Because I could, you fucking moron. And because it's who I am. And you made me who I am. You made me!"

He can see Clark taking a step back from him and that gives him enough strength to pull himself up and into a standing position. The blood is hot on his back.

"I am not responsible for what has become of you," Clark whispers.

Calmly, Lex takes another step forward. This is his chance of fighting back. Hurting back, after all those years. "Oh, yes. Yes. You. Are," he says coldly. "Because you came here. And you brought the meteors. The green stones. And don't you know what they do? Did you never put two and two together in all these years? Stupid Clark. So stupid! They fulfil wishes.  
They give you what you want most. In there."

And he pushes his fist hard against Clark`s chest, right over his heart, trying to hurt him. Lets his hand linger there and feels it, the erratic beating, until Clark pushes him away angrily. Lex stumbles and tries to catch himself. He needs to hold on to the arm of his chair to keep his body from swaying.

"Took away my hair and the asthma...everything that made me look weak," and his voice sounds like acid. "And they gave me enough strength to fight back. - And in the end, if you hadn't come here... Nothing of this would have happened. Nothing at all. Because the old Lex Luthor would have never come this far. He still would hide away, too afraid of the world. If it  
hadn't been for you he never even would have gotten the *chance* to do this. He'd have never felt enough rage. - If you wouldn't have saved me, Clark... If you'd have let me drown... Nothing... - And the lies, Clark. All your lies...If you'd have trusted me..."

He is breathing hard and the pain from the gash has turned into a steady throbbing. With his good hand he touches the back of his head and he feels less blood now, but his suit is ruined. Inside his head, he can hear himself giggle.

Lex wonders if he is crazy.

"That's such bullshit," Clark whispers, harsh and breathless. "This is it? Your excuse? Bullshit, Lex." He bends forward and spits: "Bullshit. - It's no one's fault but yours. And that's exactly why I never told you anything. Because it's like this, Lex. It's like father like son. Lionel and Lex. Just the same. Just as everybody said."

And Lex breaks. Just like that. When all the lies he told himself are tumbling down finally.

He doesn't break in a way Clark could see. He crumbles away *inside*. The last bit of sanity vanishes, until it is gone and not coming back. Lex giggles. That's the only thing he lets Clark see. The giggle, and the snarling it turns into after that.

"Madness," the voice in his head whispers. "That's what you've been heading to all your life. Just fucking madness."

"If I'd known that, I wouldn't have tried so hard to be good."

And he giggles again, even more now because he has said that loud instead of just telling the voice in his head and Clark suddenly has this *expression".

"You should see your face," he whispers. It was supposed to come out humorous or maybe evil... The way crazy people who destroy worlds say things for nothing. But his voice is soft and warm. The way it hasn't been for a long time except for when the cameras were on.

"You should see your face," he repeats, softly still. Because now that he has gone crazy, he can do whatever he wishes to do.

He takes a step forward.

Clark takes a step back.

For the first time, Lex realises that instead of smelling like death as everything else does, Clark smells like life.

"How is that possible?" he wonders.

"What?"

Clark looks at him. Confusion. Pain. Anger. It's all there in his eyes. He stares down at his own feet when he takes one step after the other. Forward. Clark walks backwards again. Just one step. And stops.

"Did you know?"

Again, just the word. "What?"

"How good I was."

"I..."

"Never once touched you," Lex says.

He stops when he is standing right in front of Clark, but still never quite touching. Just like back in Smallville.

"What a pity."

Lex is not sure which one of them said that.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" he whispers.

"Yes."

"Me, too." But he is smiling at Clark. "It's not so bad, you know. It all makes it easier. What I did, and the loneliness. - Maybe you should try, too."

Clark closes his eyes. "It hurts. - It hurts so much. Being alone."

"It gets easier in time. All you need is practice. - And I had a whole lifetime."

There's this small sound, a small sound of desperation coming from Clark.

"First," he says, after taking a breath. "whenever you told me a lie or did something...I found excuses. Because you were my friend, Lex. My friend. And I... Maybe we could have changed things. But it was just too much... Too much to let me trust you enough. And, God, I wish so much we could change things now. Maybe we could...Or maybe not. Right? Maybe not."

"Maybe not."

His voice falters and instead, Clark is staring at his own dirty hands. The dried earth is crinkling. It's getting chappy. Like in a desert.

"My mother was the last," he says very slowly. "There is no one left."

"I am," Lex answers. "At least for now."

"No one left to hold me back."

"They never liked me anyway. - So why should I care?" And that was cruel. But he can't stop being himself. And he is the one who pushes this time. Because he is just so *angry* and he so much wants to hurt him.

He puts all what is left of his strength into the movement and it comes fast and strong...a human being even would have been surprised, hurt by it. But Clark is just watches him out of those big eyes when he falls to the ground and crashes on it. Looks up at him so uncaring, the wish to beat him to a bloody pulp is nearly overwhelming.

But instead, Lex lets himself down on his knees besides Clark's body. With the hand he has left, he starts opening his white tie, but he is fidgeting with it after a moment because his whole body has started shaking. Jittering. Phase two of three before exitus.

He knows it. And Clark knows it, too.

"You need help."

"Fuck you," Lex answers.

Clark says nothing. His face is like a mask, giving away nothing.

Lex is breathing, even and deep. And the jittering stops for a moment and he can open his tie and get rid of it. He turns to the buttons of his shirt, opens them slowly and without taking his eyes off Clark, all the time wondering when Clark is finally going to kill him.

Do it. Do it. Lex wants to open his mouth and tell Clark about the voice in his head. The one that wants to die right NOW.

But nothing happens.

And Clark looks just ...

Numb.

And the other Lex can't bring himself to care. He pushes his shirt and his jacket off his shoulders, ignoring the smeared and still warm blood running down his back. The straps of his artificial hand open easily and he doesn't mind about Clark's reaction to his stump. He is used to people staring at it, just as much as he is used to people "noticing" his baldness.

"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much." Again, he is not sure which one of them said it. Doesn't matter anyway.

For another moment, they are just staring at each other, while Lex is trying to ignore the pain in his body, how it is spreading all through him. For the first time, he is wondering if Clark will die, too, or if he will be the last living person on this planet in a few hours. He wants to ask him, but can't make himself to do it. His mouth opens and closes again without a sound coming out.

Clark sits up suddenly and has closed the distance between their bodies and he pulls Lex back down with him and presses their lips together.

Lex can feel desperation in the touch, the way Clark is working on his tongue and how he is roaming over his naked back...The scratching with his fingernails and Lex adds the feeling to the "pleasurable pains" in opposite to the agonising pain that has already started to slowly take over his body. He hums softly into Clark's mouth. Clark shudders, thrusts against him. Arching his back, he is rewarded with Clark's flat hand on his lower back, stroking over his skin and pushing under the waistband of his pants.

He growls and bites down hard on Clark`s shoulder, deep into it and through the shirt, teeth finding flesh and muscle and tearing, trying to tear hard, but there's no blood, because he can't hurt Clark like this. So he pushes the shirt aside at the neck and just keeps on sucking and licking the skin, bites again, makes Clark howl and take in fast and loud breaths, makes him  
groan. Clark's hands are on him, going deeper under his pants, kneading the flesh, before suddenly losing interest and instead almost frantically going to his groin, pushing, grabbing him through the fabric and massaging him, tearing open the zipper and pushing the pants down. Lex sighs when the now cool air of the night touches his naked flesh.

Then he is on Clark's jeans in turn, opens the buttons and pushes his hand down into it. He is hot against his hands and Lex cradles Clark's balls for a second, then pulls the shaft out of the jeans and strokes too hard and too fast. Clark gasps and bites down on Lex's neck in turn, then twists one of his legs around him and turns them around.

"Yes," he whispers. "yes...it's...fuck..."

Lex humps himself up against Clark's body, letting their cocks slide against each other, every little contact rewarding him with another desperate growl coming from Clark.

And suddenly, Lex is looking up and into Clark's face. His closed eyes, the slightly open and wet mouth and his brows, pressed together in concentration. And he realises how damn fragile Clark looks, even right now. White as a ghost, with dark rings under his eyes. Superman, about to break in two. He wishes he could just coolly enjoy the view, but instead it is pressing his stomach together.

All those years when he'd imagined this, it had been brutal, just like the way they are having sex right now. In his fantasies he had literally fucked Clark through the mattress, kicked him, bit him, boxed him, drawn blood from His Invulnerable Highness. Made him scream until his throat was raw and he couldn't say if he had wanted it to be from pain or from lust. Marked him. Made Clark his. Anything just so Clark had to acknowledge him. Anything to stop the silent treatment. And there was always something animalistic between them in his fantasies. Something coming from pure rage...and pain. And then suddenly...none of that is left. Because this is Clark. CLARK, for fuck's sake.

And maybe he loves Clark. Still.

Without thinking about it, he slows down his movements until he is lying very calmly between Clark's body and ground. Clark grunts in desperation and goes on humping against Lex, obviously trying to get off even without his help.

"Clark," he whispers. And puts his hand on his cheek. "Oh god, Clark."

"No."

Clark grabs his hand and tries to push it down to his cock again, but Lex is fighting him. Refusing to give him release.

"Stop it," he says harshly. "Clark, stop it."

It's a ridiculous situation, and at any other time, Lex would have laughed out loud. He's so good at scheming. He is so good at it, he's the fucking God of fucking people over. But right now he is twisting his hand free from out of Clark's iron grip in spite, even though he should just let him because that's what he wanted, isn't it? His very *last* scheme. Fuck Clark. Be the last person who ever touched him, inside and out. But he can feel Clark starting to shake uncontrollably and for a moment, the fear that Clark is sick, too, is taking his breath away...but it's just tears. Just tears and shaking from a little breakdown that Clark has. Tears are running down his cheeks and he is already sobbing desperately when he finally lets go of Lex.

"Fuck you," he hisses. "Fuck you! - It's all your fault. It's all...they are all dead. And the smell, Lex, the smell! And my parents. And Lana and Chloe. Pete! - And why are you still alive? Goddamn! Why are you the only one...why are you not DEAD!?"

Clark looks down at him as if he's about to spit into his face...or rip his throat out, and suddenly Lex doesn't feel like scheming any more.

Clark is withdrawing, with this look of desperation and hate on his face - and loneliness. And that's something Lex knows so well, this feeling as if there's a hole in your heart, as if there's something missing, and it hurts. It's bleeding and it's hurting and it makes you want to rip your heart out to not have to feel it any more. And before Clark can move off of him, Lex grabs him by his shirt and pulls him back down on his body. He is slides both of his arms around Clark's shoulders, pulling him nearer, pressing them together with as much strength as he can manage. Kissing him on his wet cheek and neck and finally his mouth, softly pushing his tongue in Clark's mouth, and kissing... just kissing him softly while cradling the half-naked, shuddering body in his arms. Telling Clark that he is not alone.

And he hates himself for being so weak, because he wants to hate Clark. He doesn't know any more for what, he just wants to hate him because it feels good. Hating is good. It keeps you from thinking about the spreading pain that makes you want to curl your toes and press your eyes together and stop hearing the blood rushing in your ears and the urge to scream. And the detached calm voice in your crazy head is telling you that you are going to be dead in a few hours and there's no one but yourself you can make responsible for that, because it just is. It's your fault and forever and ever you are going to be the person who rid this planet of all human beings including yourself and good job, Lex, and wouldn't it be nice to shoot your brains out right now? To just make it STOP?

He is softly laughing into Clark's mouth and is being paid off with a painful grabbing and twisting of his arm.

The one that still has a hand attached to it.

Lex gasps.

"Fuck, Clark. That hurt." But his voice sounds more like he's amused.

"Stop laughing. Stop pretending this is all a joke. Stop being like that."

"Like what? Myself?"

He giggles this time and Clark is staring down at him, his face nearly touching. His breathing is fast against Lex's mouth. Hot. Too near. Tempting. Lex meets Clark's eyes, remembers, turns his face aside and stares at the wall. Cramps in his stomach make him want to pull his legs up a bit to ease it, but Clark is still lying on his body and he can't move. He's still so tall and broad, while Lex feels as if he shrank somehow the last few years. Got smaller and smaller and there's hardly anything left of what he'd been. He tries slow, shallow breathing and hopes maybe it'll help against the pain and the ugly voice in his head.

"I've run out of jokes, Clark. twenty fucking years", he whispers. "Twenty years. And don't take this away from me. Not this final...Don't make me weak again."

"You've never been weak."

"I wanted to punish you. I did all this...to punish you. And that's weak. I must be the fucking king of weakness."

Clark bends down and buries his face in the crook between Lex's head and shoulder. His breathing is shuddering, trembling, but also warm and wet against the naked skin and Lex listens very carefully to get what he is saying.

"...not making any sense."

Lying to himself. Clark is lying to himself and just ignoring the truth. And maybe, Lex thinks, maybe he can do that, too. At least for now. And be like Clark and just *pretend* that he is not alone.

"That's because I'm crazy and evil." He's chuckling. And then Clark's chuckling, too. And that makes his body move against Lex in the most fascinating kind of way and they both groan at the same time.

"Fuck me," Lex whispers.

And this was supposed to be a "Fuck *his* brains out"-thing. Punish him. Do all the things he dreamt about and somehow thinks Clark might have dreamt about, too. All the tearing and hurting. The things he has planned out in his mind, played over and over again, jerked off to them, tried on some tall dark-haired boy from the street who got paid well. And there was  
always so much blood and he was called "Sick fuck" so often, he doesn't want to think about. And right now, it's just so damn FUNNY. Because there it is now, his chance...and he has run out of wanting to hurt Clark. He's lost and lying. And that is, all in all, a good thing for once. Calming.

Wordlessly, Clark pulls himself up and the absence of his body leaves Lex shivering from cold.

He's staring up at him while Clark strips out of the rest of his clothes. He wants to take off his own clothes, too, but another wave of pain takes his breath away and makes him groan. For a second, Clark stops in his movements and there's something in his eyes, pain or fear or something... But then Lex says: "The desk. Upper drawer." and after hesitating a moment,  
Clark walks over to it and opens the drawer and stares into it. His hand vanishes inside, comes out with a bottle. He looks at Lex, who stretches out his hand to him and Clark comes over and takes it, lets himself being pulled down to him by his wrist and the bottle ends up besides them. And the...worried?...look is gone and it's just dilated pupils now, pure desire.

Lex's pain is a dull throbbing in the back of his mind...too steady now to still be ignored altogether, even by a Luthor, but not as bad as to stop him now. Still, he doesn't think it's a good sign. In his life, it has always been calm before the big bang. Why should it be any different in his death.

He is being stripped off the rest of his clothes slowly and carefully. Clark is taking his time. As if they'd have any time in this world...any time *left* in this world. Fingertips are tracing his naked chest, down on the inside of his legs. Lips follow, the tip of his tongue, warm and wet, sliding over his hipbone, kissing.

Lex doesn't understand how Clark can be like that to him one moment and the next hate him from the depth of his heart. It's as if there are two different people inside of him...Just like there are two different people inside of Lex. The one he was and the one he has become. And he stares at Clark, who is moving between his legs and lifts up one of them and is bending down with his lips crooked up in a slight smile. Soft breathing against his skin at first. As if Clark is memorising the part of his body that he hadn't get a good look at before. A tentative lick into the crack between his leg and his cock and Lex sighs. And maybe this is the late Clark. The one he had lost for so long, the one he had missed. The one he could have had if they hadn't fucked it up as much as they did.

"Let me", he gasps. "Let me...do something, okay? Clark..."

The look on Clark's face is warm and soft now, and there's one last lick at the skin of Lex's leg before he moves and lies down on his back and spreads out his body. Lex follows the outstretched hand that is being shown to him and moves to lie on Clark, putting them together from head to toe. He keeps himself like that, without moving and feels everything. The heat and the beating heart, little hairs on Clark's arms and legs, his breathing, a bit erratic, his hardened cock, brushing against Lex, the slight smell of sweat, finally covering the dead people's smell outside.

He could stay like this forever, he realises, but another wave of pain runs through his body the next moment. Agonising, terrorising pain, that makes him turn his hand into a fist until his knuckles show ghostly-white under his skin. His body shudders from the hurting, and, pressing his eyes together, he tries to fight it, to be able to move again. Clark's fingers are on his back, making little soothing circles. But that doesn't make it better, it just makes it worse. Because it makes him want to curl their bodies together and never move again. And he doesn't have time for another weakness. He doesn't have time at all. Lex presses his teeth together until his jaw hurts and pulls himself up into a sitting position on Clark's legs.

It's the first time that he takes a good look at him, and he is actually only doing it because he is still fighting back the throbbing pain into the back of his mind. He is smiling. He wants it to be predatory, but whatever it is that Clark sees in his face...it makes him return the smile.

And Lex wants to open his mouth and tell him something. How he doesn't hate him. How he hasn't. Has never. But he's a Luthor and he has become the man his father always wanted him to be. He doesn't talk about that. Instead his only answer is to bend down.

He can do nice things with his mouth. Great things. God, he is a slut, really. A fucking slut. His father would be proud...he always wanted him to be a master in every skill. And now he is dying...but still sucking cock like there's no tomorrow. Which, actually, there isn't. A little nice lick around the head and he can hear Clark gasp and wonders if it's really Lex`s skills that are bringing him off or the idea of Lex being as good as dead. Another thought just typical Luthor. But he really *is* wondering. So much that he actually lets the cock slip from his mouth and asks.

"Why are you here?"

Glassy eyes, staring down at him. Sweat on his brow. And a crooked, hard smile. Not angry. Just too close to going crazy himself.

"Because I wanted to kill you."

Lex holds Clark's balls and starts rolling them softly, never taking his eyes off the man beneath him, who is licking his lips and Lex bends down and licks the tip of the straining cock as an answer. He's rewarded with a gasp.

"Now you don't?" he whispers.

"You *are* dead already."

And Lex suddenly realises that this is going to be the only answer he'll get. No last big confession. No loving embrace. Just a fuck.

"And you are... going to be the only one left." He whispers. This time, his tongue goes from up the base of Clark's cock until he's reached the tip again. He sucks on it. Feels... tastes pre-come, is humming in the back of his throat. Softly again. A shudder goes through Clark's body and he grabs Lex's arms and pulls him up for a kiss, deep, nibbling at the lower lip. Licking over it. Hands are moving over his back and lower, then there's a fingernail, scratching at Lex's opening...not moving in...just scratching slightly. And the feeling makes him groan deeply and push back against it, opening his legs wider.

Thinking straight. For the last time tonight. He takes a deep breath.

"There's a room. Downstairs," he says. He's trying to ignore the finger that is pushing in, just the fingertip, but enough that it makes it even harder for him to talk. "It has a collection," gasps...closes his eyes...breathes deeply. "of the green stones. Every one I could get my hands" Clark's long finger, twisting inside. Involuntarily, Lex moves up on his knees and pushes himself back against the intrusion. "...on. - There's enough...I was planning..." The finger leaves. Clark takes the bottle and squeezes lube on his hand. Then it's back on Lex, slowly working the liquid into him. Lex closes his eyes, a deep sigh is coming out of his mouth. "I was planning to kill you in there." He exhales in pleasure and looks down at Clark. "You...you could just go in there...and close the door." Clark is frowning and then rubbing hard inside. Lex moves down on the hand, clasps his muscles together, cries out loud.

"I'm just going to stay here for another while," Clark whispers, and his voice is cracking, coming in gasps. "Watch." Not saying what, Lex realises.

"It would be...like falling asleep." And he bends down and presses his mouth against Clark's, works his tongue in rhythm to Clark's slick finger in him. Between them, Clark's cock is brushing his belly and he grabs it and touches and then holds it and softly moves his finger against the skin. Nothing fast, nothing to get Clark off, just touching tentatively. And still, Clark is groaning against his mouth, pulls away, stares at him with wide open eyes.

"I'm not giving up like that," he whispers. "I never will."

Of course, maybe he truly believes that right now.

Clark's hands are hard on Lex's hips, bruising the skin, lifting him up...like a doll again and Lex feels small, so small and light. Clark could break him in two, just like that. His hand searches blindly for Clark's engorged cock, closes around it, steadies. Their eyes meet, and he's slowly being sat down. Pushing inside, opening him up, and he's...oh...in and there's more...and he's sitting in Clark's lap, twisting around a bit, and, oh god, Clark's there...and gasping, holding his hips, lifting him up and down, moving with him and thrusting in deep and lifting up again, out of his body and in, all the way and hard, fucking hard, and Lex clenches around him when he's pushing in, and it's hurting and he's full and he's never felt anything like that before, it's so GOOD and he feels even more light-headed. And suddenly he's not sure it's from the sex alone. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter anyway.

Clark is sitting up and embraces him and kisses his neck and shoulders and they are moving together, and his cock is sliding between them and Clark is hard in him, frantically moving, rubbing and oh god, he's not going to last and then there's red. Red between them. Smeared. Blood. He's bleeding from his nose and it's dripping between their bodies, down Clark's chest. And the next moment, he moves his body up and slams it down hard again and rotates his hip in Clark`s lap. And Clark is yelling his name, holding on to him...desperately...shaking.

In Lex's head everything is going in circles. And it's...

He wants to talk, but it's so hard and his voice is hoarse, hardly there at all. His arms feel heavy...much too heavy. He is trying to stop and get up for a second, only until he has a grip on himself again. But he hasn't got any strength left to move away and Clark's arms around him are suddenly even more stronger, as if he's trying to keep him, and something's cracking  
and Lex wonders if Clark broke his ribs because he's holding him so hard...so hard...and Clark is thrusting into his body, ignoring all the blood, ignoring everything as if he doesn't care or as if he just doesn't want to *know*.

Lex turns his head towards Clark to speak...moves his mouth to his ear...pulls all his strength together...

"Clark..."

Clark is fucking him hard and fast, thrusting up, and making low, needy sounds in the back of his throat. And he can feel the cock buried inside of him, moving, knows that Clark is nearly there. Just another moment. It's all he needs. Just a moment. And

talking. Clark is talking. Saying "yes", "yes" and his name and other  
things.

Again and again.

And Lex is smiling because he is going to be weak one last time and tell him something, too. A secret he has kept for twenty years.

...and there's a shudder of pain going through his whole body... and he takes a deep breath to speak

and he never exhales.


End file.
